


The unmatched adventures of the murder family

by sapphirae_escapist



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Abigail Lives, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Eventual Fluff, M/M, Minor Character Death, Murder Family, Murder Husbands, POV Multiple, Season 3 compliant, Season/Series 03 Spoilers, eventual like lots and lots of domestic fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-04-23 15:54:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4882879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphirae_escapist/pseuds/sapphirae_escapist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em> What if no one died? What if we all left together? Like we were supposed to. Where would we have gone? </em>
</p><p> </p><p> Hannibal doesn't kill Abigail in Mizumono; instead he goes to Italy with her and together they wait for Will to join them...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I like most of what season 3 did but I couldn't let Abigail go, so this is my take on the murder family. It starts at Mizumono and it'll be some time before it jumps away from the canon plotline. It will also have what you might call season 4 dreams ;) 
> 
> Beta'd by the lovely szelene2.

_They know._  

* * *

 

 Menacing rain has Will soaking wet by the time he reaches Hannibal's front porch from the taxi.

The door is ajar and light paints the raindrops a cold orange colour as he debates taking his gun out, then decides against it - if everything goes according to plan then Hannibal has already left. He doesn't dare hope that Jack isn't here - they were supposed to come together, but Will is certain that Jack didn't wait for him, and the open door indicates the same.

Plans tend not to go according to how they are supposed to when Hannibal is concerned.

He enters the house quietly and makes his way through to the kitchen without meeting anyone, and he doesn't know whether to be thankful or worried over that until he sees the kitchen.

Everything is a mess in the other times pristine room. The glass shards crackle and crunch under his shoes despite his best efforts to move soundlessly. It doesn't take an empath or an FBI profiler to figure out there was a vicious fight here, brutal, between people who knew what they were doing and were aiming to kill.

There's blood sweeping out from under the pantry door, but as Will is about to step closer to examine he hears gunshots from upstairs.

He takes his phone out with his left hand and his gun with his right and is halfway through the corridor by the time he has a chance to ask the dispatcher for an EMT.

Jack is here and so is Hannibal, but also someone else, and were Will the faithful type he'd be praying for it not to be Alana.

But it is Alana; of course she had to come here and face the monster herself.

She has apparently locked herself inside one of the rooms - Will has no idea what kind of room it is, he's never been upstairs - and is invisible to Will but her voice as she threatens to shoot whoever enters first carries through the corridor. At least she has the gun, which is probably more than what could be said about Jack.

He steps closer to the locked door, but stops before he's directly in front of it.

'Alana?'

'Will!' her voice is high pitched and shaking.

'Where is he?' Will asks, but Alana doesn't need to answer - Will turns instinctively, and founds himself face to face with Hannibal.

The doctor is covered in blood, both his own and Jack's, most likely, and his expression is nothing like Will's seen before - it's the face of an old, heartbroken man.

'You were supposed... to leave' Will grits through his teeth.

'Couldn't leave without you' Hannibal replies. He steps closer, cradles Will's face in one hand, and - the pain after the knife tears through his abdomen is nearly unbearable.  Hannibal catches him when he's about to fall and pulls him close to his chest as blood pours to the floor.

'The teacup shattered itself and the fragments scatter through time and dimensions, shattering in abeyance, undecided as to whether gathering again together.' Hannibal announces and holds him, stroking Will's wet hair with bloody fingers. 'Do you understand?'

Will's full body is shaking, but Hannibal understands the negation anyway.

'I made a place for you in my world. I have let you know me. See me. I gave you a rare gift.  But you didn't want it.'

He lets Will fall to the wall and then lower, until he can barely sat upwards.

'Didn't I?' Will looks up at him while trying to keep his intestines inside with both hands.

'You would deny me my life.'

'No, no, not your life, no...'

'My freedom, then. You would take that from me. Come find me in a prison cell. Do you believe you could change me, the way I've changed you?'

'Didn't I?' Will asks again, but he has a harder time to speak each time he opens his mouth. His words anger Hannibal.

'You had a chance to reverse time and let the teacup come together, Will. You did not take it. But I forgive you - will you forgive me, too?' he crouches down to reach Will, his thumbs caressing the other man's face. His face is stern. 'You can make it all go away. Put your head back. Close your eyes. Wade into the quiet of the stream.'

'No, please, no' but Hannibal stands up, shakes his head and leaves - leaves Will bleeding on the floor, Jack in the pantry and Alana screaming in the room.

 

* * *

 

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

His room smells of hard lines and antiseptic. A machine is beating steadily in tandem with his heartbeat, but a change in the rhythm alerts a physician to come and check up on him.

'How do you feel?'

'Thirsty.'

'Someone here is very eager to see you. Are you well enough for a visitor?' he leaves after Will's nod, and Will, head still heavy and mind blurry from the drugs, sees Abigail Hobbs enter for a split-second before the image clears and becomes Alana Bloom.

'They told me he knew exactly how to cut you. It was surgical. He wanted you to live' she sits down in a chair next to the bed. She looks all right, physically unscratched, but her psyche is probably full of scars.

'He left us to die' he whispers.

'But we didn't' she counters. 'He promised me to kill me, the next time we met. But you...'

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

'How's Jack?' he says after a few moments of silence.

'He's out of intensive care' Alana reassures him. 'He's with his wife now, in a private room.'

 _That's good_ , he doesn't know if he should say.

'How are you doing?' she asks.

'They put my intestines back inside, so I'm great.'

She hums and watches his EKG lines flare up and run out on the monitor.

'And mentally?'

'Is this time...' he needs to take a deep breath before he is able to continue, 'when you ask me how did it make me feel when my friend disemboweled me and tried to kill my other friends?'

'How did it make you feel?'

He doesn't reply. He doesn't think she faults him for it.

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

'Are you tempted to forget?'

'I don't want to forget. I am building rooms in my memory palace for all of my friends.'

Will has had near-death experiences before, as a cop, then as an agent. He never had to re-evaluate his life like this before.

His memory palace is shifting, too. There's still the stream, sometimes with Abigail as they fish, but that is no longer completely separated from Hannibal's influence. He entered it when he told Will to find peace there in the face of his physical suffering, and Will doesn't know if joy or sadness would follow in the wake of that admission.

He is also seeing a peculiar chapel in Italy with a skeleton on Hannibal's office floor. He can't entirely blame the drugs on that.  

'Friendship with Hannibal is blackmail elevated to the level of love' Alana states after minutes. She seems certain in herself, stronger than before - Hannibal changes everything that he comes in contact with, for the better or worse, and Alana became the prime example of the saying _if it doesn’t kill you it makes you stronger._

'A mutually unspoken pact to ignore the worst in one another in order to continue enjoying the best' he adds.

'After everything he's done - can you still ignore the worst in him?'

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

'I would like to be alone, Alana.'

 

She leaves.

 

* * *

 

He doesn't get many visitors while he's in hospital. It's mainly at his request - after the talk with Alana he doesn't want to speak with anyone else.

 

He gets word from the FBI, though, and finds out that Jack was released and is now at his home to take care of his wife. The procedures against them have been dropped after Hannibal has showed his true colors, so there is no sentence hanging above their heads.

Will doesn't exactly sleep better because of that knowledge, but maybe Jack does.

 

Frederick Chilton comes in with a bunch of flowers one day, pretending to understand everything better than the rest of humanity and being irritatingly condescending as he tells Will about how he'd like to have Hannibal inside his hospital - which, Will knows for a fact, isn't even his anymore. Will politely but firmly declines his offers at a friendship.

 

Freddie Lounds snaps a picture of his temporary colostomy bag, but Will only finds out after he's released from the strict medical care of the hospital, and by then, there's nothing he can do about it.

 

* * *

 

 

Will spends all his energy on preparing _NOLA_ for the Transatlantic journey. Lately he's neglected her a lot: he was focused on entrapping Hannibal, then on surviving the fallout. She needs an overall maintenance and fix-up on the engine, but a few weeks and she should be good to go.

He loves working outside, despite the cold. The dogs don't leave his side much - he was missed while recovering in a hospital bed. He muses over Alana's words, and Chilton's, and Hannibal's. While his hands are occupied by the task, his mind roams free, and he  imagines what-would-bes and what-could-bes; a dinner that never happened and himself, holding Jack down and Hannibal cutting his throat, then a life in Europe with Hannibal, luxurious and blood-thirsty...

The dogs perk up as a huge black monster of a car pulls up at the driveway, and a few seconds after the engine was killed the driver approaches him.

'I had hoped you would come find me. I understand why you didn't' Jack says as a way of greeting, and Will doesn't stop his work, doesn't even turn.

'What can I do for you, Jack?'

'I'm here to make sure you don't contradict the official narrative: we're officers of the FBI, wounded in the course of heroic duty.'

'That's not true. For either of us.'

Jack sounds apologetic.

'We were supposed to go together. That's on me, that's my foul.'

 _It is_ , Will agrees, but somehow that's only a part of the problem.

'I'm not sure it would have turned out any different if we did' he admits.

'We assign a moment to decision, to dignify the timely result of rational and conscious thought' and Hannibal was definitely rubbing off on Jack, because he too now talks abstract.

'Not all of our choices are consciously calculated' Will argues.

'Our decisions are.'

'Decisions are made of kneaded feelings. They are more often a lump than a sum, Jack.'

'Do you remember the moment you decided to call Hannibal?'

Will goes still. He knew this was coming.

It doesn't make it easier.

'I wasn't decided when I called him. I just called him. I deliberated while the phone rang. I decided - when I heard his voice.'

'You told him we knew.'

'I told him to leave. I wanted him to run.'

'Why?'

'Because he was my friend. And because I wanted to run away with him' his voice is a barely audible whisper at the end, but Jack hears.

He has nothing to say to that.

None of them have.

 

* * *

 

Jack parks in front of Will's house for the second time in recent months. He tries not to give hope up - and to that thought, anger flashes through him. The very man who is responsible for stabbing him to death and taking away precious time from Bella said these exact words to him, and at that time they were everything Jack needed to hear.

The very same man is now taking away his best profiler as well.

 

Someone notices his arrival and the front door opens, letting about half a dozen dogs out into the cold. After the dogs Alana Bloom reveals herself, standing tall, proud if a little stained, with light pouring out from behind her.

'Where's Will?'

It's too late. They are back in each other's orbit - maybe never left.

He should not have shown him the letter written by Lecter at the funeral.

'He's already gone, Jack’ she replies. ‘He knows what he has to do. Do you?'

He doesn't, and he doesn't share Alana's faith that Will does, either.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I never want to watch Mizumono again. 
> 
> \----
> 
> I have the rest plotted out, some drafts as well so hopefully I'll be updating regularly on the weekends. Support and feedback is always welcome and helps with the writing :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by wifey <3

Eight months after the bloody, fateful night in Hannibal's house and four days after Will set foot in Norman Chapel for the first time in his life, the body of a young man is found at the altar.

Will doesn't believe in God, and he believes in coincidence even less. He's been in the chapel a lot these past few days, and it doesn't surprise him that the police want to question him after the body is discovered. It's not God he's come here to find, although that's what he tells when people ask. He _knows_ Hannibal is here, somewhere; feels it in his bones, much like the times when the feathered stag showed him hidden truths behind brutal murders.

The body itself - what remained of it, anyway - also doesn't surprise him much, anymore. For one, he's seen worse as an agent; for another, it's so very typically theatrical of Hannibal to communicate through blood and death instead of straight talk. (Like the countless, countless times he's killed just to prove Will's hypotheses wrong or right, both as the Chesapeake Ripper and as the copycat of the Minnesota Shrike. Will sometimes honestly wishes Hannibal would just send him a Hallmark card instead of bringing variously placed corpses to the spotlight like a bad-mannered cat.)

What does surprise him, however, is that Chief Investigator Rinaldo Pazzi has heard of him, and his background with Hannibal. But at least he doesn't rely on Freddie Lounds' articles for information, which is a refreshing change in itself. Also, he can ask good, if a bit hyperbolical questions.

'Is Will Graham here because of the body at the cappella, or is the body here because of Will Graham?'

'Why are you here?' Will asks back.

'I'm like you. I do what you do. We share the gift of imagination.'

 _Why does everyone think I'm going to feel a partition of camaraderie for them if they assure me that we are similar?_ Will doesn't ask.

'I've got the scars of a man who grabbed his gift by the blade' he says instead.

'You grabbed the wrong end. Those moments when the connection is made, in that synaptic spasm when the thought drives through the red fuse, that is my keenest pleasure.'

'Knowing.'

'Knowing. Not feeling. Not thinking. You know who murdered that man and left him in the Cappella Palatina.'

'Don't you?'

Apparently, he does too.

He tells Will about The Monster, hunting on the streets of Florence some twenty years ago and arranging his victims into various tableaus recreating classic paintings. He also has pictures to show.

'Like a Botticelli' Will realizes.

'Exactly like a Botticelli' Pazzi agrees. He shows Will another picture, taken from _Primavera_. 'His painting _Primavera_ still hangs in the Uffizi Gallery in Florence, just as it did twenty years ago.'

'At the Uffizi Gallery... that's where you met _Il Mostro_ ' it dawns on Will. This man has also faced the monster, and has also lost something in the wake of the encounter.

'That's where I met this man' Pazzi reveals a black-and-white photograph of a younger Hannibal Lecter to Will. 'To find the inspiration Il Mostro used was a triumph. I went to the Uffizi and stood before the original _Primavera_ day after day, and most days I'd see a young Lithuanian man as transfixed by the Botticelli as I was. As transfixed as I imagined _Il Mostro_ would be. And every day I saw him he would recreate the _Primavera_ in pencil, just as he did in flesh.'

Will is flashed back to one of the many days he and Hannibal have spent in the doctor's office, Hannibal sitting at his table and drawing, pencils neatly organized at the side and a sharp scalpel glinting in the light of the fire - drawing himself and Will, recreating _Achilles Lamenting the Death of Patroclus_ , wherein the dead Patroclus is Will and Achilles himself is Hannibal.

_It took divine intervention to bring them down._

And Hannibal is no God, but what does he love more than defying him?

Pazzi, despite his earlier claims about having a similar mind to Will's, does not follow his lead of thoughts. In his defence, the inspector is far away in his own bitter memories, and while Will understands his bitterness, he also knows that Pazzi is lucky on the sole prospect of being alive.

'I knew. It was the best moment of my life. A moment of epiphany that made me famous and then ruined me.'

Will lifts his head and looks at him.

'In haste and heat of ambition, the Questura nearly destroyed the young man's home, trying to find evidence' Pazzi recalls.

'He doesn't leave evidence' Will verifies.

'No, he doesn't.'

'He eats it' Will wonders if Pazzi knew about this detail before the press jumped on the "Hannibal the Cannibal" spectacle.

'Another man -- not an innocent man, but innocent of those crimes -- was a dream suspect. He was convicted on no evidence except his character.'

'Blame has a habit of not sticking to Hannibal Lecter.'

'It has a habit of sticking to you' Pazzi, unnecessarily, reminds him.

And to Frederick Chilton, Abel Gideon, Nicholas Boyle, and who knows how many others.

 

Pazzi gets him into the chapel, to the (not very well guarded) crime scene and gives him the prints of the corpse. He shoos a protesting officer away, then leaves Will to be with his devices - much like Jack, excluding the demanding questions. In this case, after all, they have no doubts about the identity of the perpetrator.

Will doesn't need to concentrate to get into the headspace of the murderer. He doesn't stop to mull this over, because he's not sure he wants to face what is says about him just yet.

'I splintered every bone, fractured them... dynamically. Made you malleable. I skinned you. Bent you, twisted you and trimmed you. Head, hands, arms and legs. A topiary.'

He wonders what his fault was. Was he just unnecessarily rude to Hannibal? To someone else, in Hannibal's presence? Was he merely at the wrong place at the wrong time? Did he have something that Hannibal wanted?

He sees the remains clearly, as if they were never cleared from the chapel. As he lays his hand on top, the thing begins to swell...

'This is my design.'

_Thwub-thwup._

'A valentine written on a broken man.'

_Thwub-thwup._

The heart starts unfolding itself, revealing the exact placement of the arms and limbs, and also giving fresh material to Will's nightmares. It gets worse as it rearranges itself into something that advances on four legs and by all means should not be able to move at all, and yet Will stumbles backwards until he trips on the steps, falls down and tries to crawl farther away from the thing - the thing that now has ebony black antlers that are pointing down at Will...

A sudden noise rips him out of the fantasy - a door closing shut in the distance. Will has never been more thankful for being distracted while _looking_ in his life.

This broken set of flesh, this raw, horrifically maimed version of the feathered stag displays the relationship between Will and Hannibal gone horrifically wrong, Will has to give it that. The juxtaposition is fitting. He does feel closer to Hannibal here.

He doesn't know where he would be without him.

Hannibal left him his broken heart. He knew he would come, to the physical materialization of the foyer of his mind palace that he'd shown Will.

Could Hannibal truly miss him? He did leave Will alive, after all, and not for the lack of success after trying. But he's also after his own amusement, he's always playing a kind of game only he and he alone can win, and this mockery of their past would suit that purpose perfectly.

And yet a part of Will wants to be close to him, in the place that Hannibal has made for him. Another part of him, on the other hand, wants Hannibal in the place _Will_ has made for _Hannibal_ : inside one of the cells of the Boston State Hospital for the Criminally Insane.

 

By the time Pazzi comes back Will is laying on his back across the steps leading up to the altar, staring at the gilded ceiling above him. At his feet is the exact same skeleton figure Hannibal told him about. The sun is already down for the day, but the chapel is well-illuminated on the inside.

'Are you praying?' Pazzi asks.

Will considers, then shakes his head.

'Hannibal doesn't pray. But he believes in God. Intimately.'

'I wasn't asking Hannibal Lecter' Pazzi reminds him.

'I think my prayers would feel constricted by the saints and apostles and Jesus Pantocrator' Will turns to look at the said illustrations on the high walls.

'Not buoyed?' Pazzi wonders.

'Not these prayers' Will confirms, then challenges Pazzi. 'How do your prayers feel?'

'I hope my prayers escaped, flown from here to the open sky and God.'

'Praying you catch him? You should be praying he doesn't capture you' he warns the inspector as he stands up.

'I didn't head the Questura di Firenze for nothing' Pazzi says with a hint of hurt pride in his tone.

Will takes a few steps to explore the vicinity of the altar.

'You couldn't catch him when he was just a kid, what makes you think you're going to catch him now?'

'You' Pazzi replies simply.

'What makes you think I wanna catch him?' Will asks him the same question he's asking himself, day after day after day.

Pazzi doesn't catch his meaning; instead he assumes the face of a constable who is trying to decide if the person he is talking to is seriously considering manslaughter or not.

Will doesn't catch Pazzi's next words - they could be in Italian for all he knows - as something catches his eye: down a few steps on the side of the chapel there is a wooden door, and as Will stops to stare at it blood starts flooding out from down under it.

Will has learned to understand, appreciate, and use the way his sub-conscience works, and he doesn't have an inch of doubt as to what this means.

'If you could possibly be content, I would suggest you let _Il Mostro_ go' Will advises after turning back to Pazzi.

'Can't do that any more than you can.'

'He's going to kill you, you know. I'm usually right about these things.'

'He let you know him' at least Pazzi is spot on about that. He really didn't become the head of Questura for nothing, even if he isn't smart enough to outlive Hannibal. 'He sent you his heart. Where has he gone now?'

'He hasn't gone anywhere. He's still here.'

Pazzi, who up to this point was staring intently at Will, willing him to help, now follows Will's gaze to the door downstairs.

 

The catacombs under the Norman Chapel are like a maze, poorly lit and full of shadows, Will soon learns. Orientation is made harder by the fact that while he tries to find, follow, reach out to Hannibal, Inspector Pazzi attempts to do the same to him. Pazzi is about as subtle and elegant as Jack would be, so Will first needs to get rid of his pursuer to be in pursuit again.

'You shouldn't be down here alone' he greets Pazzi from behind, who nearly jumps out of his skin but doesn't shoot Will in spite of the fact that he has his gun in his hands.

'I’m not alone. I'm with you.'

Pazzi is starting to become too trusting and arrogant for Will's liking only after a day or so of knowing one another.

'You don’t know whose side I’m on' Will cautions with a slight upturn of his lips, and it has Pazzi right on edge.

'What are you going to do when you find him? Your _Il Mostro_?'

Will would very much like to know that, too.

'I'm curious about that myself' he concedes.

'You and I carry the dead with us, Signor Graham' Pazzi says, aiming for deep, but missing it by miles. 'We both need to unburden.'

If it's his way of wishing to see Will longing for Hannibal's death then he's in serious mislead.

'Why don't you carry your dead back to the chapel before you count yourself among them' Will suggests.

'You're already dead, aren't you?' Pazzi is taken aback.

Will doesn't even bother to turn, he just walks backwards, away from Pazzi and into the darkness, to where he feels he belongs.

' _Buonanotte, commendatore_.'

 

It could be hours after Pazzi is gone, or just mere minutes, Will doesn't know. He moves on and on and on, deeper, further, where the light stops being orange and everything assumes a cold, pale color.

He calls out to the void.

'Hannibal.'

There is no answer. He wasn't expecting one. But he knows Hannibal is close, maybe lurking just behind the nearest pillar - he won't be caught unless he wants to be caught, though. But he is listening, always rapt with attention when it comes to Will. Now he will hear everything Will has to say...

'I forgive you.'

... even if it's not much.

Will forgives him. He forgives Hannibal for framing him for murders and the evisceration in the first floor. He forgives Hannibal for alienating Jack and Alana, taking away his few but trusted friends and colleagues. He forgives him for Abigail, for his unborn child with Margot, and for every other murder, too.

But above all else - he forgives Hannibal for leaving him behind.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is very heavily transcript-based, so I use a lot of direct quotes and paraphrases - I don't mark them, because the operating system of fanfictions doesn't allow the kind of citations I would use, but please note that there are a lot of lines that I did not originally wrote (they were either said in the series or written in the original transcript), and I do not take credit for those. (If you are as obsessed with the story as I am, which I think you are if you are reading this in the first place, then I think you recognise most of them anyway.) I also don't take credit for the characters and I make no profit.  
> ((but i enjoy making this so much oh dear this is a profit in itself))
> 
> Also, when I was writing this chapter I let my frustrations out in a tumblr post that gained hundreds of notes (????) and a few new followers for me, so I take it people are interestested????? In that case you can come and talk to me on http://bowtie-wearing-alien.tumblr.com/ :)


	3. Chapter 3

The body is neatly arranged.

Death may be the result of a sudden decision when it comes to Hannibal Lecter, much like with many others who commit murder when flushed with anger or fear, but in his case the aftermath of a crime is always unlike any other.

His victim in the Norman Chapel was deliberately arranged as well, and there was no problem in understanding his point then. A broken heart, aimed at Will Graham after his betrayal. The problem is that Jack doesn't know what Hannibal wants to express with the body this time. And Will is nowhere to be found - he was not seen to arrive to the Santa Maria Novella like he was supposed to, but the remains of a second victim like this could only mean that Will is around.

Pazzi comes to the same conclusion.

'He greets Will Graham with bodies, wherever he goes' he decides.

'He draws him' Jack corrects. 'This is a message, like the heart.'

'Can you decipher it's meaning?'

Jack mulls it over, then shakes his head.

'I was the head of the Behavioral Analysis Unit for years, and yet I can't understand what Hannibal Lecter does any better than a preschooler' Jack tries to take a calming breath, but ends up taking four to no effect, so he continues instead. 'I see the body. I see a young female with a broken neck, set up in the Mercato di San Lorenzo post-mortem and covered mostly in bird feathers, peacock being the only one I can identify so far. I see the work of Hannibal Lecter and I have _no fucking clue what this means_.'

'This bears his mark' Pazzi agrees. 'But it is very different from the body at Palermo, or his recreation of _Primavera_.'

Hannibal dressed the woman in feathers carefully. He is a man who masters several crafts, and fastening feathers together is apparently one of them - but there is no scene surrounding her, no other props around, and no obvious renaissance reference either, not that Jack can think of anyway.

Whether any internal organs are missing is yet to be seen.

But nothing that Hannibal does is without reason.

'Have you told your colleagues who did it?'

Pazzi throws a disdaining look to the officers, standing a few feet from them, closer to the body - Jack is only allowed inside the cordon on Pazzi's words. The rest of the Questura keeps returning Pazzi's distrustful glances in equal measure.

'To the Questura di Firenze, he's been dead. At the age of sixty-five, Girolamo Tocca was declared _Il Mostro_ and got forty years at Volterra. Ten years into that sentence, he died. And that was the end of the Monster.'

' _Il Monstro_ has been busy abroad. You have new evidence.'

Pazzi puts his hands into his pockets, as if making himself smaller: he avoids saying the fateful name too loud around his colleagues.

'The window of the Questura laboratory is garlanded with garlic to keep out evil spirits. These are not people open to new ideas.'

'Not even after this?' Jack gestures to the dead.

'One body is in Florence, the other is in Palermo. The only connection linking the two victims is the similar lack of evidence. '

They don't even need to wait for the official verification to know the only evidence they will be able to recover is only what Hannibal left for them on purpose. Never enough to have him associated with the man in Palermo, much less with _Il Monstro_.

Looking at Pazzi Jack realizes he won't be able to persuade him. He is inclined towards a dangerous game, and would most likely sell Hannibal if he found a way instead of getting a warrant. Pazzi must have seen, maybe even talked to Hannibal, to the person Hannibal now pretends to be, and yet there is no _Gruppo di Intervento Speciale_ at his door. Even if there would be no way to prove he placed the heart to at Norman chapel, he could be held accounted for what he did overseas, to what he did to Jack and Will and Beverly and Miriam and...

There would be no feather-covered body at the market, either.

Jack's been there himself, outside the law and alone, and failed spectacularly. He thought he had Will on his side, the way Pazzi now thinks Will to be on his side, and look where that got Jack.

Will understands Hannibal; accepts him, even, and they accept each other. Who among humans doesn't want understanding and acceptance?

Jack doesn't share the same understanding and acceptance towards Hannibal that Will does. But despite everything that's happened, Jack still believes that he can save Will the way he hasn't saved the rest of Hannibal's victims.

He doesn't want to restore his honor, regain his reputation - he is here for Will Graham.

 

* * *

 

'Jack' and Jack at first doesn't believe the voice he hears, doesn't believe his own mind as it uncovers who the man that the voice belongs to is.  

'Will' he says, and looks around himself in vain hope of spotting him on the quiet street. 'Where are you?'

Silence is the only answer for a few seconds.

'I saw the body' he finally replies. 'The lady with the feathers.'

His voice is resigned. He sounds exhausted and aggrieved, much more than he did back in Baltimore even after all that's happened there, but there's also more stability in the tone he carries the words with.

Jack doesn't ask if he knows who did it, or how he even found out so soon after it's been discovered. It's not even in local tabloids yet. Jack's just headed home from the crime scene after the body was taken into headquarters when his phone started ringing.

'Pazzi knows or suspects what name he goes by, but he won't tell' Jack admits.

'I know' Jack practically hears Will's nod.

Suspicion overcomes Jack.

'Do you know that, or do you know who he's posing as? Because I could grill out a warrant. We could prove it's Lecter.'  

'I don't know who he is here' but the way he says it, there's something...

'But you know where to find him. You decoded his design.' _Years ago_ , but no one believed him, Jack is aware.

'Pazzi is slowly becoming a bounty hunter, and the resources of a police officer are going to be denied to him soon' Will states instead of a straight answer. 'Have you told _la Policia_ they are looking for Hannibal Lecter?'

'I don't have proof.'

'And if you had?'

Pains him as it might, Jack actually has to think it through.

'If I knew where he was, I would send officers to catch him.'

'They would not tread with caution without knowing who is he. He would kill them all. You would need to tell them the truth.'

'Now they're motivated to find the killer inside the law. Knowing who he is will just coax them out of bounds, like Pazzi' Jack argues. 'He could easily slip away again.'

Will acknowledges this with a grunt. Jack, however, is less worried about Pazzi and more worried about Will.

'Would you want to slip away with him?'

Will takes a deep breath.

'Part of me will always want to' he admits quietly.

'You have to cut that part out' Jack directs him.

'If Pazzi finds a suitable price to sell Hannibal, he will' Will says. 'And then Hannibal will kill him. He already knows Pazzi's on his tail, and has been for a long time, waiting for opportunity. You need to keep an eye on him.'

'I'm keeping an eye on him' Jack promises. 'I'm also keeping an eye on you. You are going after him, aren't you?'

Silence is all the answer he needs.

'Don't, Will. At least tell me where you're going. You need backup.'

'Even if you knew where he was, you wouldn't tell the _Policia_ , Jack. You would go after him yourself. Again.'

'You need my help, Will' desperation creeps into Jack's voice.

'I don't think there's anything you could do to help' Will allows.

'Yes, there is' but Jack's usual, convincing tone and the way he can use statements to persuade his operatives even when he is uncertain inside has no effect on Will.

'Both victims, both the man in Palermo and the woman in the market, died because Hannibal wanted them dead but they both served an after death purpose to convey a message.'

'And what is the message?'

'It's... he wants me to know that I have hurt him, but he forgives me. He is also waiting for me. He wants to - he wants to hunt with me.  Right now he isn't hunting. He's luring me.'

'And you are going to him willingly' Jack is sick to his bones. The only reason he wants Will around Hannibal is for his profiler to kill the doctor, because that way maybe Will would be able to overcome his gravitation towards Hannibal.

'He will keep doing this. His patience is endless. He will keep sending bodies, he will keep luring.'

'But you would go anyway, even if he didn't.'

Will is silent again. Jack continues.

'Why are you telling me this?'

'Because I am afraid I won't be able to stop him. To stop myself. You will have to, Jack, if it comes down to it.'

It's like the replay of his deepest fears, rooted in the feeling in his own disability to control any situation he is in, stationed right next to Bella's illness, Miriam Lass' severed arm and the night when he ended up with a glass shard in his neck: Will Graham killing with cold blood.

Will doesn't let him reply. Doesn't give more information, warning, a good-bye wish, just hangs up on him - leaving him with desperate hopelessness and the urge to find Will Graham before Hannibal Lecter does.

 

* * *

 

'If I saw you every day forever, Will, I would remember this time.'

Will's smile is the most beautiful thing Hannibal has ever seen in his life, and he's spent most of his life in the company of the most beautiful artworks mankind has to offer, like right now, in the Gallery of Uffizi, in front of _Primavera_.

'Strange to see you in front of me. Been staring at afterimages of you in places you haven't been in years. '

"To market, to market, to buy a fat pig. Home again, home again, jiggity-jig."

'I looked up at the night sky there. Orion above the horizon and, near it, Jupiter. I wondered if you  could see it, too. I wondered if our stars were the same.'

Will avoids looking into his eyes, then can't seem to keep himself from gazing into them for equally long moments. Hannibal is struggling with the same difficulty, and understands the conflict in it's full extension.

'I believe some of our stars will always be the same. You entered the foyer of my mind and stumbled down the hall of my beginnings.'

'I wanted to understand you before I laid eyes on you again. I needed it to be clear what I was seeing.'

They have matching scars, mirror images of one another. Wills' are on the left side of his face, Hannibals' are on the right. Their souls are also mirrors as they are a part of one, only  located in two bodies.

'Where does the difference between the past and the future come from?'

'Mine? Before you and after you. Yours? It's all starting to blur. Mischa. Abigail. Chiyoh.'

No matter how perfectly Hannibal's memory can restore images, places, events - nothing will compare to hearing Will's voice, seeing him, sitting beside him on the small bench, just as Hannibal would do so in his memory palace. Hannibal would remember this moment until his very end.

'How is Chiyoh?'

'She pushed me off a train.'

'Atta girl.'

Hannibal doesn't know what Will is going to say or do next. His prior statement about the chrysalis remains true: he can never truly predict him. He might not even want to, anymore.

'You and I have begun to blur.'

'Isn't that how you found me?'

'Every crime of yours feels like one I am guilty of. Every murder, stretching backward and forward in time.'

'Then what's left to do? Freeing yourself from me and me freeing myself from you, they're the same.'

Will is his equal, probably his only one, his only worthy opponent.

If only Will would understand they don't have to be on opposing sides.

'We're conjoined. Curious if either of us can survive separation.'

'Now's the hardest test: not letting rage and frustration, nor forgiveness, keep you from thinking' he pauses. 'Shall we?'

'After you.'

Hannibal takes care of putting his pencil inside his notebook, and they stand slowly, hurting and limping, and make their way out of the gallery together. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gruppo di Intervento Speciale: the Italian SWAT.
> 
> Okay, so we're jumping away form the canon, and if you spot any mistakes (especially if it's about something being ooc) please let me know! 
> 
> As always, my beta is szelene2, and my eternal thanks go out to her and to mary515 for all the medical help they offer! Not only are they always ready to answer my questions about wounds and cures and causes of deaths, they are also willing to rewatch the nasty bits of the series to give insight :D you are the best, girls!


	4. Chapter 4

_'I would have liked to show you Florence, Will.'_

_'The soup isn't very good.'_

 

* * *

 

 As it turns out, the identity of the second known victim of Hannibal Lecter in Italy isn’t more help for Jack and Pazzi than the identity of the man later turned into a broken heart was: apart from their deaths they have no connection whatsoever tracing them back to Hannibal.

Finding out that her dress consists of little else than cuckoo and peacock feathers is also a dead end. Neither Pazzi nor Jack can grasp what cuckoo and peacock feathers would mean in terms of Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham. Hannibal might have just fancied these kinds of birds for all they know, except all they know now is that he wanted to show something to Will that he and he alone would understand, and he succeeded.

Hannibal doesn't leave evidence, and the police doesn't make the connection between the two deaths and the Primavera murders twenty years ago, much less with the overseas cannibal farce. Jack's getting more frustrated by the second, and his phone call with Will ended one hour ago, two, three...

He bodily threatens Pazzi, even tries to blackmail him by saying he will go to the police if Pazzi won't tell them they are after Lecter, but to no avail. Pazzi is unswayable, and Jack is very aware that Will is correct assuming that without evidence, he would be laughed out of the room.

There is no time to check every local CCTV camera, and even if there was Jack is certain that Hannibal would know which ones to avoid to mislead his pursuers.

It’s like fighting a force not only more powerful, but more astute too, than himself. He doesn’t like the lack of agency that he now has to bear.

He even considers calling for homeland help - the only problem is, he does not know who to call. Bedelia du Maurier knows Hannibal very well, and apart from Will she might be the only one to know him at all, but from thousands of miles away she would be of no use. Not to mention that Jack doesn't exactly trust doctor du Maurier: she came back from her FBI issued hideaway place as soon as she was told that they are close to capturing Hannibal. Even if she just wanted to watch from the front row, it was a very reckless decision from a woman who openly crossed paths with Lecter.

Alana Bloom is his other option, but last time Jack heard she was still working with Mason Verger, one of Hannibal's earlier victims and one of the few to survive crossing the doctor, and Jack doesn't try to think about her motives too hard. He does not need another good person changing sides of the law after coming across Hannibal - himself and Will are more than enough for a lifetime.

In his final desperation he gets his phone checked. One of Pazzi's youngest subordinates is helpful enough to contact the local telephone company, and although it's hours after the call was placed, they can trace it back to a phone booth. It's stationed on a Florentian street with no security cameras nearby, but it gives Jack enough reason to buy a good old-fashioned map of Florence at a corner stand and make some markings with a pen. He circles the phone booth first, and then the place where the feather-clad lady was found, and he discovers that they are both in a fifteen minute walking radius from the Santa Maria Novella train station where Will was supposed to arrive, and also from the Uffizi Gallery where the Primavera is displayed.

Jack doesn't show his map with the red marks to Pazzi. He wants Pazzi as far away from Hannibal as possible, and he wishes not to fuel his obsession further. But on a whim he consults Pazzi's aforementioned subordinate about people gone missing or dying suspiciously in the same radius, and he finds two who could be related to his current investigation: two well-respected curators that both worked in the Palazzo Capponi. One has gone missing, presumably run away with someone too young to be open about in the Palazzo, and it isn't even proven that he is deceased. No remains have been found and there is nothing dubious with him, no money to be inherited after his death or lawsuits dropped in his absence.

The other is a suicide: professor Sogliato committed suicide with a small calibre revolver, a bullet fired closely to the right side of the head. No final note was found, and he had no apparent cause - but of course, who decides what is cause good enough for ending one’s own life? His bitter personality bittered his life, his associates told the police, yet it wasn’t bitter enough to anger those closest to him and do the job for him.

But out of the two of them, Sogliato, lives only a few blocks away from the Uffizi.

Jack closes his eyes, listens to his heartbeat for five solid minutes, then decides to follow his instincts, stands up and heads straight to Sogliato's flat.

 

* * *

 

The elevator dings, then the door opens, and Jack steps out. He has his gun in his hand.

 

Abigail holds her breath as she watches. It's not out of fear or worry - it's simple, pure anticipation. She is waiting for the right moment, because everything she hopes to achieve depends on timing and timing alone now.

She wishes she knew how to fish. She imagines it must be the same: watching, luring, remaining unseen and striking at the perfect point. Hannibal excels at hunting, and in most cases stalking as well, but he is not the master of baiting. Abigail has learned so much from him, but she could do with a good advice or two about fishing.

Will would have some to offer, but that's the problem, isn't it? Will's not with her yet.

And that is why she must be very, very careful.

If Jack sees Hannibal he's going to shoot him, point blank.

Unless, of course, he were to see something truly terrific, like the opening of Will's skull with a cranial saw. From the noises that escape over the soft music coming from the dining room, and from the way Abigail has come to understand Hannibal and read his behavior as an indicator for his next moves, that is exactly what Jack would see upon opening the door.

In that case he would hesitate a millisecond, just while his brain processes the sight before him, assess where he would need to aim for to save the other - and in that case, Abigail would have her split second, and that's all she will need.

She is aware how many things can go awry: if she's late, Jack shoots and hits Hannibal; if Jack misses he could hit Will; if Jack is early it's all in vain... all of them will, undoubtedly, lead to her peril in the hands of Hannibal. She knows Hannibal likes her, cares for her, even - but that will not hold his hand back if she makes a mistake.

The worst would be if Jack hurt Will: Hannibal would make her suffer greatly. She would like to avoid that above everything else; and, besides, she would not like to see Will hurt neither by Jack nor Hannibal.

Therefore she risks it: she is certain in herself, and she wants Will by their side and not in the form of a lovely sufflé Hannibal would make from his brains, or from who knows what.

She doesn't analyze the situation further. She keeps sticking to Jack's shadow, a cat on a prowl, ready to pounce but soundless on bare, stocked feet; and she grips the solid Aristotle burst tight. Something grindingly electrical is turned on, and the noises from inside increase.

Jack pushes the door in at the same moment Abigail lounges.

She hits his head hard precisely when his eyes go wild as he takes in the scene in the room: Will trapped to a chair, Hannibal above him with the gore-y saw. She also punches his hand upwards as he's already on the way down, massive body obeying the fixed law of gravity, and when his finger flexes on the trigger the shot misses by a few feet and damages only the classical mahogany drawer to Hannibal's left.

As he unconsciously falls to the ground she becomes visible behind him to Will and Hannibal, and she lowers her slightly bloody statue as they look up to her.

Hannibal is clearly disapproving, but he turns the saw off. Will looks sufficiently out of it to be on Mars but at the same time something gleams in his eyes.

'You should have taken care of him in the foyer' Hannibal says calmly.

_'And you should have dated him properly instead of eating his brain'_ Abigail is very careful to hide even thinking, because the rude have a disturbingly short life expectancy around Hannibal Lecter, and while in most cases she agrees with the sentiment wholeheartedly, she does not wish to be among them.

Judging by his look she doesn't succeed one hundred percent, but it's as close as she can get.

'Sorry' she says, Hannibal tilts his head. 'I just... I wanted... I hoped we would be family, now that Will is here?' she asks with her sincerest voice, which doesn't fool Hannibal on his worst and her best days even when, at the moment, it is basically the truth.

'Please go and wait outside, Abigail' he orders her, and she nods. Hannibal's attention is partly on her as he lifts the saw again, and he sees that she takes a step back but halts before leaving the room.

'Doesn't he want to be with us?' she whispers, and Hannibal's just stern but not angry - this is one of her deepest fears, and probably one of Hannibal's too, if he even has any. 'I thought he forgave you.'

'He said he did' Hannibal agrees. 'Then he tried to stab me.'

_Ouch._

'But can't he be conflicted? If he meets with that he thought to have hurt him, and... killed me, before he realises that he's well-loved?'

She doesn't have to pretend she is hopeful, nor covering the shake in her voice. It's her best shot, and her insides are in a knot as she is looking inside Hannibal's blank eyes, waiting for his response.

'Please wait outside, Abigail' he concludes after a good minute, and it's both softer and harder than before.

She is halfway through the door, back turned to her would-be  family, when she hears a sharp intake of breath verging on the edge of a sob, and she realises she was too preoccupied with Hannibal to look at Will this whole time. One does not look away from the lion when one’s in its cage, not even when one’s biggest hope is by the lion’s side.

Tears are running down freely on Will's face. He's choking on his own breaths, but he is probably so high he feels no actual discomfort - he didn't much blink at the saw, after all. But he follows Abigail's every movement with blind reverie, as if she’s the only thing able to reach him in his haze.

Then he starts talking.

'Please... stop' he mumbles. 'Don't give me more...'

It's clear that it is for Hannibal but is about Abigail, and she watches as Hannibal half-unconsciously lowers the saw down again.

'Please don't... I don't want to see more... eat my brains if you want to, but stop messing with it...'

And apparently it is enough for Hannibal as well, because the next thing she knows he is crouching down beside Will to check his pupils and his pulse, caressing his skin under his thumb.

He is overly endearing for someone who was literally drugging up and opening the same person's skull not even five minutes ago.

Abigail's blind luck is how very embarrassingly smitten Hannibal is with Will Graham.

'Don't give her back and take her away again' Will whispers, eyes still only on Abigail, and Hannibal takes out a clean textile handkerchief and dabs the tears from his cheeks, then the blood from his forehead with it. He doesn't say anything, but he goes to retrieve his syringe from the top of the drawer, and he shots Will with another dose of tranquilizers - it's enough that Will's eyes, despite his obvious efforts on the contrary, flutter close slowly, and then he's out like a light.

 

Abigail doesn't realize she's crying until Hannibal embraces her and wipes her tears away, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, it hurt just writing, too. Sorry. 
> 
> Generally speaking, this (all) was inspired by this scene: http://bowtie-wearing-alien.tumblr.com/post/130159392359
> 
> Many other things gave me inspiration for this fic, and I intend to give credit to all and maybe have a masterpost (at the very end, because I don't want to spoil anything in advance). I should probably clear that all tumblr links will direct you to my blog, and not to the original post; not because I want to promote myself so much but because I will not change my blog's url whilst others might, and I really dislike the feeling of a link I can't open. You can find the original's link through mine, though. 
> 
> The half-line about the fixed law of gravity is inspired by The Greatest Show On Earth by Nightwish, who were in turn inspired by Charles Darwin :) (Go and listen to the Endless Forms Most Beautiful album, it's amazing!)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter that I am really, really proud of :) Criticism is welcome!

_Red, just as bright as freshly spilled blood, floods Hannibal's vision momentarily._

'They know.'

_The words ring in his ear, echoing in circles, each one adding a new layer to the old - yet nothing substantial changes._

_The same words he himself had said to Garret Jacob Hobbs during their first and only conversation._

_The same way Abigail is standing close to the receiver of those words now, just as she stood then, awaiting her sentence._

_Will is saying those words to him now._

_A courtesy call._

_How dare he. How dare he repeat them back now, after he'd betrayed Hannibal's trust so crassly..._

_He looks up at Abigail and tells her to go upstairs, because he knows what, or rather, who is coming._

_He can see it all now, playing out in front of his eyes like a movie: Jack, arriving without backup, their fight until death, blood spilling freely in the kitchen. The sacrificial lamb, originally planned to be killed, sealing the friendship between Will and Hannibal; now futile without it's original significance._

_Alana too, most likely. She tends to be righteous, although maybe logic would sway her mind, if not her heart._

_And Will, of course._

_Hannibal keeps preparing dinner, but his mind is far away from his physical body. He cuts and chops and skins, but he does not see what he's doing - he has years of experience to thank for not cutting his fingers with the sharp knife. He is miles away inside his own head, and yet he manages to be self-aware about his surroundings enough to hear the steady rain outside._

_Will betrayed him. He kept lying even when Hannibal offered him the chance to reveal the truth. All of this could have been avoidable. They could have gone to Italy by now. Will would need his own reckoning now, not dissimilar to the one he promised Hannibal once, Hannibal had known for some time now._

_He knows that Abigail's death may be unavoidable. He had seen it first hand how Will reacts to the idea of family, and then to the absence of one. Hannibal would like her to live, but there might be no other choice._

_The teacup would be shattered again._

_But then, just as he is halfway through mentally slicing his knife into Abigail's neck and opening her up, letting her blood fall to the floor the same way it once had before Hannibal saved her, all while looking into Will's eyes, a new thought floats to the front of his mind. One he did not forget, but almost missed the significance of._

_Will called to warn him, just now._

_He probably promised Jack to catch Hannibal in the act, and now he's giving Hannibal the way out._

_Further examination shows Hannibal that Will is not ready. He still relies on his morality, and he still wants his revenge for the way Hannibal has framed him -  for Abigail's death as well, most likely. He doesn't see how Hannibal wanted to help him, not yet._

_But he already cares about Hannibal, too. He would not deny him his life, anymore, just maybe his freedom - but maybe not even that, either. He's indecisive, but he has already killed, even if it wasn't Freddie Lounds._

_So does Hannibal wound him as much as possible, both physically and mentally, does he kill Abigail; or does he value her comfort and further promise of a family with Will, and leave her alive?_

_He inhales deeply, puts his knife down and turns to go looking for Abigail._

_She needs to pack her belongings._

* * *

 

Will wakes up sluggishly.

Blackness is engulfing him, and at first he is only aware of his breathing, then his surroundings - the comfortable bed he's lying in, the muted noises of a street - become gradually more and more distinguishable. He recognises the symptoms: his sleep was drug induced.

For some time he stays laying there without bothering to open his eyes, and it feels like the bed is swaying under him, indecisive about swallowing him or spitting him out completely. As his thoughts began to crumble, tangle and juggle together, however, he decides to take a look around himself and opens his eyes. The bed stops moving immediately, but it takes a few minutes for his vision to focus on his environment properly.

He's in a cozy little guest room as far as he can tell, and his eyes take the time to adjust to the grey light coming from the curtained windows and the warm light from a small bedside lamp.

Hannibal is sitting in an armchair, one leg crossed over the other, and meeting his eyes intently.

'Good evening' he says gently, but doesn't move, only his eyes close a fraction before opening fully again. 'Nearly dawn, in fact. Thirsty?'

'I am' Will nods, and struggles to sit up. He shouldn't bother, because he is already in a half upwards position with the cushions under his upper body, and the effort just drains him and has his head aching.

Hannibal tells him as much, too, as he retrieves a glass of water and helps holding his head up as he drinks.

'How are you feeling, besides the headache?'

'I dreamt that Abigail was alive' Will says conversationally, and Hannibal freezes for a fraction of a second as he is about to to put the glass back. 'So whatever kind of drug you are giving me - it worked.'

'What would you think if I told you it was not a side-effect dream of the medication?' Hannibal carefully settles down in his chair again.

Will slumps back against his pillows and closes his eyes shut.

'What would I tell you if you told me that after you framed me for her murder and, amongst other things, pushed her severed ear down my throat, you hadn't killed her?'

Even with the drugs messing up his perception Will notices how Hannibal shifts slightly and looks down before meeting his eyes again - maybe there is even a touch of defensiveness besides the eagerness and sorrow in his voice.

'I wanted to give her back, Will. To you. To us. I would have, but you tried to stab me.'

A huff of mirthless laughter escapes Will.

'Don't pretend you didn't have your knife out as well. We would have jabbed each other to death right on the street if Chiyoh hadn't shot me.'

Hannibal has the courtesy not to deny. Then again, the day Hannibal will not have his courtesy will be the day he will be covered in dirt and six feet under, but maybe even not then.

'Is she alive?' Will whispers, and this is the first time he's seriously allowing himself to consider it, consider the possibility that he might see Abigail again. He fears that to have it proven untrue would be more than he could bear, but it is time to face reality, whatever that is. He forces his mind to cooperate, to deal with this fresh concept.

Hannibal focuses all his attention on him again, then nods.

'Yes.'

Will feels his heartbeat take up pace.

'Where is she now?'

'Waiting to talk to you' Hannibal says. 'She is very smart, you know. She knew exactly how far to let Jack come in.'

'She survived over a year coupled together with you, of course she is smart' is the only thing Will is able to come back with, and it has Hannibal amused.

'I suppose you're right. I've told you: the teacup finally collected itself.'

Will smiles at him widely, and yet again, mirthlessly.

'It is not a teacup, Hannibal. It is you, playing God.'

'The God in the Old Testament is a Vengeful one, much in contrast with the Forgiving God of the New Testament. Which one do you suppose I am?'

Will contemplates this.

'Last time you posed as Zeus.'

Hannibal nods.

'You understood the design.'

'Most of it. I wasn't sure of the reasons, but now... Abigail's presence explains the rest, I guess.'

'The peacock is the renaissance's association with Hera. Originally the cuckoo was attributed to her' Hannibal tells him.

'She is the goddess of family, and yet hers is the most dysfunctioning one of the ancient greeks. I would have thought you'd be partial to pomegranate seed' Will admits.

'Pomegranate is also attributed to Hera, in some cases' Hannibal recounts. 'In some of the stories, Persephone chose to go with Hades to escape Demeter, whereas Hera was never fully subdued by the alien conqueror. She is much more like you in that regard.'

'And you' Will retorts. 'The cuckoo lays its eggs in other birds' nests, and when the chicks hatch, they extrude their foster siblings and get raised by the surrogate parents. You abducted a family for you much the same way, and made sure I had no biological relations myself.'

'You need a family to escape what's inside you, and a stepdaughter absolves you of any biological blame. You know better than to breed. Can't pass on those terrible traits you fear the most.'

Will is speechless for a few seconds at the face of such crudeness, but also such veracity.

Hannibal knows him better than anyone ever could.

He allows his dismay to be heard in his tone all the same.

'How very convenient for you, isn't it.'

Hannibal looks him in the eye, lacking any sort of mockery with his next words.

'Family values may have declined over the last century, but we still help our families when we can. You are family, Will.'

 

* * *

 

Abigail sits on the side of his bed without any part of their bodies touching.

She keeps fidgeting, fingers moving restlessly, but her smile speaks of contentment. Her hair is longer than the last time he saw her, straight and dark, and there are recent circles under her eyes.

'I didn't know what else to do. So I did what he told me.'

Will nods in understanding. He is fighting his tears, not out of shame but out of the need to be able to see Abigail more, better.

'Did he have you locked up inside all this time?' he murmurs.

'No' she shakes her head. 'When I had to be at his house in Baltimore, yes, but in his other house, and in here, too, I was... well, I could walk around as the daughter of Dr. Rosen, at least' she carefully avoids to say she was free, Will notes with a new wave of heartbreak.

Will doesn't need to be an empath to see that asking how she is would be pointless, and yet he can't refrain.

'I'm fine' she affirms. 'You're here. He said he made a place for us.'

'A place was made for you, Abigail, in this world. The only place I could make for you.'

'And do you have a place for Hannibal, too?'

Will takes a deep breath, then releases it slowly.

'I'm not sure. What did he plan? That I would just... that we would be a merry little family, with our daily jobs and nightly murder sessions? That we would raise you together?'

'I'm an adult, I don't need raising' Abigail protests, but it's a weak one at best. With Hannibal one is never in full control of one's actions. 'But would it be so bad? To be a family with us?' She looks thoroughly insecure.

'We won't become a family just by repeating the world 'family' constantly, Abigail.'

'But we won't not be one just by denying it' she counters.

There is truth in her words.

But Will also remembers Molly Shannon and her Lost Boys who were forced to bond and kill in order to survive. Family can't be forced into existence artificially, especially not with fostered codependency and manipulation - the likes of which Hannibal is so fond of.

The memory of Molly Shannon brings back other memories as well: himself as he was buying some fishing material for Abigail, wishing her to teach the art of luring fish - he never gave her the present. He did not want to stand in the place of her father's; it seemed indecent and forced at the time. But he can't forget how he still dreamed of her after he thought her to be dead, and how he anticipated being a father when Margot...

But Hannibal is right, he knows better than to breed. He does not wish his features to be inherited by another being.

Hannibal has no such reservations about seeing his bad nature reflected by others. If anything, he encourages such behaviors whenever possible.

Hannibal.

Even back then, right after Abigail woke up from her coma, Hannibal talked about his own parental feelings. He offered Will to be her fathers together. Will didn't understand then, but he does now: this was Hannibal's game all along.

It is significantly out of character from him, too: he usually doesn't plan for such long periods in advance. He's always prepared for future occurrences in general, but Will wouldn't have pegged him to be the type for a set-up this long. He is patient, but not one for huge endgames - or so Will have thought.

Will is simultaneously touched and unhinged at the realization that Hannibal may truly want the three of them to be a family unit, mismatched as it may be, and have wanted it, planned for it and waited for it for so long.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one will convince me that calling him Rosen instead of Fell isn't funny. 
> 
> Also I am relatively proud for coming up with another weird murder metaphor thingy - I thought watching mizumono was hard, but alas: finding abstract intertextualized stuff that can be used as messages in murder is a lot harder. 
> 
> The kidnapper from Oeuf has no name so I'll follow silkysimpona's way and use Molly Shannon (sorry to the actress, it's nothing personal).


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I took a few books out of the library about Italian food and travel guides and literature... just in case. And this chapter is going up late because I had to do some research and (because of completely un-Hannibal-related issues) I'm not in the best of moods this week :(  
> Please tell me it's still worth continuing! Your much appreciated support means a lot to me, whatever the form it comes in :)

_'The Studiolo is a small, fierce group. They have ruined a number of academic reputations' Hannibal says, just as Abigail brings in their dinner from the kitchen. Hannibal made it with extensive care, as per always, but he is currently busy smashing the ice block to gather small, fragile-looking ice chips for their nightly beverage, leaving Abigail to waitress duties._

_'Appearing before them is a peril' Sogliato agrees._

_'You were very eager to see me discredited, Professor Sogliato' Hannibal doesn't glance away from his task, and Sogliato isn't smart enough to fear for his life yet._

_'You sang for your supper before the dragons at the Studiolo' Sogliato states with thinly, if at all, veiled mockery and disapproval._

_While other people might see amusement or nonchalant neutrality, Abigail sees something change in Hannibal - it's not much, nothing specific, but something around Hannibal becomes different, and the calm aura he usually oozes abruptly turns into something akin to calm calculations._

_'And from what I've heard you sang very well, dad' Abigail chirps in._

_If he were the conspiring kind... if he were the type to conspire with others, Abigail mentally corrects herself as she takes her seat across from Sogliato, Hannibal would have already casted meaningful glances at her. As it is, he just smiles for what can be described as modestly in his case but outright gloating in others'. (It is not gloating. Abigail has seen Hannibal gloat. This is bordering on humble, compared to that.)_

_Sogliato applauds, then keeps nomming on their dinner meat with greasy fingers. He doesn't even wait for all of them to be ready for dinner. Abigail finds the sight revolting, and presumably Hannibal does too._

_'First applause, and then by wet-eyed acclamation, the memberships affirmed you as master of the Palazzo Capponi.'_

_'Punch Romaine, a cocktail created by Escoffier' Hannibal gives them their glasses. 'Served to first-class guests on the Titanic during their last dinner.'_

_Abigail has to refrain from rolling her eyes._

_Sogliato sips from his drink, then makes a noncommittal noise. He is not impressed by anything Hannibal does, let that be their dinner or a speech on Dante, it seems._

_'The committees have a new curator,they do not miss the old one' he remarks with the face of someone who wishes they would miss the old one. Or that he could be in his place, at least. It is hard to decide if Sogliato's problem is with the fact that Hannibal isn't Italian, or that Sogliato couldn't get his job - maybe not for himself, but for a beloved family member? -, or with Hannibal being just himself._

_'If my victory pleased the professore, I could not tell' Hannibal lies, which takes Abigail by surprise because Hannibal avoids lying as much as possible. Obfuscating: yes. Outright lying: not his general modus operandi._

_'Then you weren't paying attention' which, wow,_ rude _._

_'I pay lots of attention. But not in a wide-eyed, indiscriminate way.'_

Here it goes.

_With a swift motion Hannibal plucks the ice pick into Sogliato's frontal lobe._

_Abigail's eyes widen when Hannibal casually septs to his chair and takes his place, then even slips from his drink, showing only mild annoyance at the gibberish noises Sogliato keeps making._

_'That may have been impulsive' he admits._

_'Like the serving of Punch Romaine?'_

_Sogliato giggles and mumbles. Hannibal takes a bite from his dinner._

_'Aren't we to wait for Will here?' Abigail asks._

_'What makes you say that?'_

_'He is the second dead from the Palazzo. Isn't it a bit suspicious? Won't they see a pattern?'_

_Hannibal raises an eyebrow._

_'He isn't dead. Technically.'_

_Abigail also takes a sip from the cocktail. It is good._

_'Is he going to go missing, or will it be an unsolved murder case for the police?'_

_'What do you suppose?' Hannibal seems genuinely curious, he even ignores the shaking in her hands as she puts her glass down._

_She stands up, and grabs a napkin from the table as she goes to Sogliato's side._

_'I can't see' Sogliato laughs, and Abigail takes a deep breath and pulls the ice pick from his forehead. Sogliato collapses in a pool of his own blood like a deflated toy._

_'If we want to keep the peace here, it should be suicide' Abigail concludes. 'A bullet wound could obscure the original cause of death.'_

_Hannibal's face at her words is like a cat that learned to use a tin opener: full of mischief, mirth and self-admiration._

 

* * *

  

' _Salmo trutta carpio_ ; brown trout from Lake Garda, marinated in vinegar wine and fried in fresh olive oil in Martino de Como’s way' Hannibal announces as he puts a plate each in front of Abigail and Will, who are sitting on opposite sides of the table, then he places the third plate to his own setting and takes his place between the two of them.

Will has changed to a clean light blue shirt and pants that he found next to his bed.  Hannibal's not wearing his usual impeccable three piece suit, either: he's in a grey pullover and a jacket.

Abigail's blouse is the most elegant one Will's ever seen her wearing, and she looks at home in it.

'Buon appetito' she says nodding at Hannibal, then finds Will with her eyes immediately, smiling a bit indecisively.

Will takes his utensils into his hands, but doesn't start eating. Abigail and Hannibal both follow his every move, curious as to what he will do next.

'We've eaten this before' Will notes, turning to Hannibal. Hannibal also doesn't touch his food - he's waiting for Will. 'Not in this fashion, though.'

'That fish you've caught yourself' Hannibal reminisces. 'You were trying to avoid my meat of questionable sources.'

'I am not in favor of long-pig, doctor Lecter' Will says, surprisingly gently.

'Yet a few weeks later you yourself claimed to have brought some.'

Will puts his fork and knife down, leans back in his chair and rubs his face with his hands.

'I should not have done that' he admits quietly.

'No, you shouldn't have' Hannibal agrees. 'Especially when we established we would stop pretending. You suggested that, if my memory serves correctly.'

'Why did you lie?' Abigail asks him, but despite the harsh phrasing, there isn't a hint of accusation in her voice.

'The wrong thing being the right thing to do was too ugly a thought' he says after some consideration.

'You are still afraid of what you think is a monster growing inside you. You deny a part of yourself _from_ yourself' Hannibal puts his fork and knife down.

Will's always felt unnerved when people gave all their attention to him, which is what Hannibal does ninety percent of the time when they are together. This is no exception.

'If I don't, I leave dead bodies as I go.'

'Some of them deserve death, Will. Like Chiyoh's tenant.'

'Don't turn this into a debate about ethics, Hannibal. You no longer have ethical problems; you have aesthetical ones.'

'Tell me, after his death, did you not honor him in a very aesthetical way yourself?' Will glares at him, but Hannibal remains unfazed. 'Ethics become aesthetics.'

'You have killed someone?' Abigail's eyes widen in surprise.

'No, I didn't' he tries to assure her, to himself, but he is aware that he is responsible to some extent.

'You set a series of events into motion that lead to his death' Hannibal cuts in.

'Except, unlike much of the cases you are involved in, my intention was not to kill him' Will counters.

'You were curious.'

'I wanted to set him free. I wanted to set Chiyoh free.'

'You succeeded' Hannibal grants him. 'What way do you imagine us, freeing ourselves from each other?'

Will holds Hannibal's gaze for some amount of time, then his eyes turn to settle on Abigail.

'In a way that doesn't shatter Abigail.'

 

* * *

 

The apartment is... exquisite. Luxurious but tasteful, mirroring Hannibal's preferences perfectly. Just as his house in Baltimore and his office were a perfectly measured mix between the modern and the classic, the beautiful and the strange, this place isn’t toned down at all. It has a definite late Gothic façade with the irregular rows of mullioned windows, and Will feels a different kind of out of place here. On 5 Channel Square it was the fancy dining room, the finest of china, the best of stainless steel counters and mahogany surfaces. Here in Florence it's more cold lights, gold reflections of the darkness outside, a home on the outside but not very personal in the inside.

Will isn't offered a grand tour, but after the meal they retire to what he would call a living room, with dark grey cushions and beige walls surrounding a fireplace and armchairs. Before they could sit down Hannibal turns to Abigail.

'I'd say it's quite late, Abigail. You should probably have some rest.'

She blinks.

'I don't feel tired yet' she says, but in a week voice.

'I’m afraid I must insist' Hannibal presses, and she nods. Will notices that she still fidgets, but at least she's not trembling, and she looks at Will.

'Good night' she whispers, and she would like to hug him, he knows she would, and he wouldn't mind it either, but the moment's gone and she's left the room by the time he has a chance to figure out what to do.

Will would like to spend more time with her, but he also needs to discuss certain matters with Hannibal first.

'You could have just told her that you wanted to speak to me alone, not that she doesn't know already' he says, and apparently it isn't just fear that makes him rude but tiredness as well.

Hannibal doesn't dignify him with an answer. By the time Will's sitting relatively comfortably Hannibal's acquired two glasses and a bottle of amber liquid from God knows where, and he pulls a tumbler for him before settling down in the armchair across.

'There's still some medicine in your system, so it's best you don't drink more' Hannibal advises after sipping from his own glass.

'I'm surprised I even got this much' Will admits.

'I supposed you could use some.'

'I can.'

They drink, and if it weren't for the steadily increasing pain in his shoulder Will would think this could be another of his hallucinations, the whole scene is so surreal.

'How are you feeling?' Hannibal asks after a while.

'I'm still wrapping my mind around the fact that you left her alive' Will murmurs. 'I am also afraid you will take her away the moment I do something you disagree with.'

'You already have, and yet she lives' Hannibal contemplates something. 'I would have liked to preserve the peace I found here, Will. For the three of us.'

'Past tense?' Will doesn't ask how many Hannibal's killed here, while preserving said peace.

'Will you allow me to preserve it?'

'I'm in no position to allow you anything' Will clarifies. 'No one is. Is Jack alive?'

'Yes' and as Will seems shocked at his response, Hannibal elaborates. 'Even with his wife dead and him unwillingly retired from the FBI, he's still an agent. His death - or disappearance - wouldn't go unnoticed.'

Will swallows the rest of his bourbon, one of the finest he's ever drank, then stands up and takes a few steps around the room.

'I'm so tired, Hannibal. I'm tired of this game. I'm not your dog to be trained, I won't perform tricks to your liking so you can give me treats and congratulate yourself on a job well done.'

'A dog only performs to it's owners. You and I are equal, whether you wish to see it, whether you accept it or not.'

It's something he's thought of before. He doesn't know how big of a part his empathy plays in this equation, if he's projecting and absorbing Hannibal into himself, or if he'd be this way if he were a normal guy. If he would've become this without Hannibal's influence, or if he would've wilted, consumed by his inner agony.

'How do you imagine this, then? How do you think this will work?'

'We once wanted to be his fathers, Will, if you remember. We agreed to protect her. That opportunity is open' Hannibal is following him with his gaze, but there's not much Will can read from them.

Maybe he wants this, truly - like Chilton claimed, albeit he thought he was talking about Will at that time: giving life excites Hannibal just as much as taking does. Or maybe he’s curious, maybe he’s playing, maybe…

Will doesn’t know.

'We couldn't even protect her from each other.'

'I taught her to play the harpsichord. She wishes to learn fishing from you, like you also wished to teach her.'

 _This is what a deal with the devil must feel like,_ Will thinks. _To have your biggest wishes fulfilled, if you say so. But at what price?_

'Would you trust me not to betray you again?'

Will settles down again.

'No more than you would trust me not to take her away from you.'

They are sitting in matching armchairs, facing each other, the night light from the inner lamps painting shadows on their faces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't decide if Hannibal's actually living at the Palazzo, like in the books... so I'm leaving that open but I'm using the description found on Wikipedia.   
> The fish's recipe is found here: https://books.google.hu/books?id=Twf3n_yaIA0C&printsec=frontcover#v=onepage&q&f=false   
> The bullet wound concealing the ice pick's trail was advised by my two lovely beta's, so thanks again, girls!
> 
> ETA: thanks for the support! my bad mood seems to be over and I definitely want to finish this story - so I've signed up to NaNoWriMo, which means I'm concentrating on writing and not editing at the moment. The updates this month will be all over the place, but I'll try and make up for it later :) <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! Must be Christmas...

Jack comes to his senses in the hospital, but it's a while before he can actually use any of them.

The drugs take two days to leave his system fully; he's hazy and he can't speak and see properly. By the time he properly wakes and regains his memories it's been over 48 hours after he's last seen Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham.

He was found in Sogliato's flat, unconscious and lying on the floor. Pazzi's assistant received a phone call a few hours after he entered the house, from Jack's phone (which was in his breast pocket when he was found later on), asking for help. It wasn't Jack calling, but it could have been for all the police knows.

He doesn't know who hit him. He saw no trace of anybody besides Hannibal when he rode the lift, and so it might have been Hannibal, with some unknown method, but it just as well could have been a henchman of his, because for some unfathomable reason he always finds people to support him. The lack of evidence on the crime scene isn't very jarring for a man who's been on Hannibal's tail for months, years - they find no DNA, not even Will's and neither Hannibal's, and nobody else's aside from Sogliato that can't be acquainted with, like the cleaning services’.

What _is_ jarring is that no one believes him. Sure, he doesn't mention Hannibal by name, but he gives description of a person vaguely resembling Hannibal Lecter's, with the extra notion that he was last seen with Will Graham, opening his skull, who may or may not be alive, is probably held in hostage (or, Jack doesn't say, may be with him willingly). Pazzi's mute because he waits for a proper ransom, and Jack is mute because he can't risk other officers following Pazzi's trail. Hannibal is too big of a prize for temptation, and too smart to use that temptation to his best advantage.

He hopes he gives enough details to be motivation enough to look for Hannibal without actually knowing who they are after.

It isn't.

They reason that if there was anybody cutting open people’s skull there would also be some evidence. Blood, tissue, a stray hair, either from Will or from his attacker, but there is nothing. Jack truly, honestly misses the good old days when he held the same line of thinking, but those times are gone past.

The drugs are also no lead because there's nothing in his system that is illegal and suspicious, and both the nurses and the police officers come to the conclusion that he was just drinking too much, he fell and lost consciousness.

It is a perfectly logical assumption.

It is also not what happened.

Suddenly Jack becomes hyper aware of how Will must have felt when he named Hannibal as the Chesapeake Ripper and not a single soul believed him.

He feels powerless, paralyzed and without any agency.

What's  also discordant is that Jack doesn't know if Will is alive or not, and he has no idea which way to start looking for him. His instincts are telling him that Hannibal's obsession with Will means that the man is breathing, but with a man like Hannibal one can never know for sure.

He is undecided which he fears most: Will, already being eaten alive by Hannibal, body horribly mutilated and never found again; or Will, alive and breathing in the sole company of Hannibal.

The only indication that Will is alive comes three days after he is released, and it comes in the form of a bouquet. It is neatly arranged, made of three colors - white, yellow and purple - and it consist of the three flowers grown inside that Baltimore councilman found in the parking lot: deadly nightshade, white oleander and ragwort. They're fresh, come in a paper and foil packaging so the delivery company spots nothing wrong with it, and the flowers are let through to Jack.

He's lying on his bed, looking at the bouquet in his lap, and he knows that Hannibal's playing with him. He should be concentrating on finding Will, yet he can't step away from the image of that man, displayed on "varicose vines", water in his lungs that later led them to Miriam Lass.

As the former head of the BAU he knows he is being manipulated in the smartest of ways. The flowers, of course, can't be traced back, and there is no note, no anything that would indicate the sender and would be useful in court. But it distracts him momentarily, messes with his dreams, because Jack finds himself back in time, when Bella was at his side, or, more precisely Jack was by her bedside. He'd just found Miriam Lass, and he has to tell her that not only did he stop looking for her but they also hadn't even caught the Ripper. They can't even find evidence about the Ripper's identity…

Hannibal's not only destroyed Miriam's life, but he also brought Will out of the hospital and back into his care again - this time, with Will's consent. And their head witness, Miriam, shot Chilton and named _him_ the Ripper, which effectively convinced the public and the FBI about Hannibal's innocence.

At this thought anger fills Jack. Hannibal brings havoc and death wherever he goes, and he thrives at the chaos he creates. It gives Jack both reason and strength to focus his attention back to the task at hand and the flowers he was sent.

They could be a warning to stay away from him, or an invitation, mocking, and quite possibly dozens of other things that Jack can't even grasp. So Jack decides to interpret this the only way he can, and he most stubbornly doesn't stop looking for Will - instead, he does what he needs to, and asks for help.

 

\---------------------------------

 

She picks up after three rings - Jack is already contemplating what he'll do if she doesn't answer - and she sounds of out breath.

'Hallo?'

'Alana, it's Jack.'

The noises coming from the background indicate that she has moved somewhere more private for their discussion.

'What can I do for you?'

'Yesterday I got a bunch of flowers: belladonna, white oleander and ragwort. No sender, but I don't think it's hard to find out who it's from.'

'No. No, it isn't' she agrees. 'What happened before you got the flowers?'

Jack would really like to tell her everything, but he doesn't know who else might hear, either with or without her consent.

Hannibal has successfully alienated him from Alana, it seems. He doesn't know if he can trust her, but he still could use her insight.

'I saw him' he admits. 'He was with Will.'

Silence is the only answer he gets for a minute.

'Are they together now? Where's Will?'

'I don't know. He might not even be alive.'

'He is alive' she says, and she sounds very certain. 'He wouldn't have sent you these if Will was dead. This is a thank you  - not a traditional kind, but he's expressing his gratitude. Whatever you did, you just fulfilled his greatest wish.'

'Will asked me to stop him' Jack says, because he has nothing better to say.

'Will is trying to deal with him in his own way. They are probably going to try killing each other, and I'm afraid what he'll do to him when he doesn't succeed.'

'But what if he _does_ succeed?'

'He won't. He will only whisper in Will's ears, but that will be enough - I don't want them near each other. He is toxic to Will. He needs to be stopped. Do you know where he is?'

This, Jack can answer honestly.

'No.'

'But you know where they _were_ ’ she points out, and at Jack’s silence, she continues. ‘Please. At least tell me the country.'

'I can't, Alana - I would like to, but you are at the Verger estate right now, aren't you?'

She exhales audibly.

'Mr Verger requires my therapy, so yes, I am here.'

'He also has a vengeance against him.'

'Don't you?' she asks.

'I want to save Will.'

'So do I' her voice slightly wavers, but she barrels on. 'I wanted to find Will before he did - that's obviously out of the question now, but I still have to believe that it's not too late.'

'So do I, Alana. So do I.'

That is the last thing they say before their goodbyes.

 

\--------------------------------------------------

 

Alana goes back to Margot's bedroom after they've hung up.

'Your brother bugs the lines, doesn't he?' she asks her.

'Probably' Margot confirms. 'Traces them too, if he needs.'

Alana shakes her head. Jack's phone is FBI issued, and it shouldn't be traceable.

'What's the next step?' Margot asks, and Alana sinks into her embrace in the king sized bed.

'I think it's time for him to announce an international bounty on Hannibal Lecter's head' she states.

 

\-----------------------------------------------

 

Pazzi is deliberately avoiding Jack, but he tones his guilt down by telling himself that he, too, wants to catch the Monster - he just wants to do it in a way that's foolproof. After all, Hannibal has already escaped both Pazzi and Jack, and there's no guarantee that he wouldn't get past the Italian police forces.

It's worrying that he has Will Graham. Now Pazzi understands what Jack's been hinting at, that Will isn't sure whose side he's on.

No one at the force believes Jack Crawford, but Pazzi knows he’s telling the truth. Will Graham most likely tried to kill Hannibal Lecter, or the other way around, and which one is going to succeed in the future is a mystery... Pazzi doesn't want Graham dead. If he believed they could retrieve Will by telling everything to the Questura, he would.

That is, he's not entirely sure he believes that Will is held captive against his will. He may have read too much of that despicable tabloid by Freddie Lounds, and she may have called Will a psychopath drawn to the rest of the criminals he catches, and now he's contemplating the idea of Will actually taking Hannibal’s side.

He shudders at the thought.

Will Graham is an incredibly smart and skilled man. Match his experience gathered by the years as a profiler with Hannibal's technique as a surgeon, and add Hannibal's knack for cruelty and Will's taste for the gore, and it's going to be one hell of a headline in the _La Nazione_ if they start hunting together.

 

Harsh blue lights are painting Pazzi's face and glasses - a reflection from his computer's monitor, in bright contrast with the dark night outside.

Despite what his colleagues claim about him Pazzi is not a stupid man. He knows what this could mean and what his decision could mean.

He weighs his options. On one hand there are is everyone - the press, the officers, that ever mocked him, and he could show them. He could restore his reputation, his honour, the name of his family. Hannibal Lecter would rot in a cell 'till his dying breath, or he would be put down like a rabid dog. Either would be a blessing to humanity.

On the other hand there are all the things he could buy Allegra with the money. The places they could go, the things they would see... and Lecter would suffer before his not so far away death, too. It, too, would rid the world of the cannibal, and his punishment would be closer to fit the crime.

Despite his best efforts at staying as far away from his superstitious coordinates Pazzi is also picking up some of their habits, or so it seems, because he's stopped thinking of Hannibal as a human being. He sees him now in the way that the press had always called him: a monster, the Monster of Florence. He doesn't deserve prison, the bars would not contain him. He deserves something more permanent, something that would send him back to the Hell that he emerged from, that would end the endless torment he brought to humans.

Pazzi doesn't know how much time he has. "Dr. Rosen" sometimes doesn't show up at the Palazzo's library at all, and Pazzi is afraid he may have already left.

He tells Allegra that he has police business to attend to, from work he takes a day's leave, and then he dials the numbers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo sorry about the long wait, people - I was doing NaNo, which was successful in the sense that I've written over 20k and the first part of this story is done :) Then I got a job and Christmas and no time, so the quality of this fic doesn't necessarily match the waiting period you had to endure.  
> I'll try to post regularly, but my beta's doing her exams and I make no promises but to finish this, sooner or later.
> 
> \----------
> 
> oh yeah, this fic and this chapter was like 50% inspired by this gifset: http://bowtie-wearing-alien.tumblr.com/post/135855157909 (the other 50% was me and my wife having fun in the middle of the night with happy murder family headcanons, some of which you will see later on in this work ;) )


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